By the time he reached the top, his arms were bloody, and sweat and dirt streaked his face. His shirt was torn from the brambles and branches that he’d pushed through in his climb. At the summit, he found no sign of her. She’d disappeared as if the ground had devoured her, or she’d grown wings and flown away.
Rob rested his hands on his knees, catching his breath and staring at the deep gorge falling away in front of him. A river snaked through the bottom and below him a great waterfall cascaded down the side of the mountain, disappearing into a mist-covered pool.
He straightened up. Across the ravine, in a meadow beyond a rugged cliff, he saw it.
A circle of standing stones.
Chapter 24
It was true. It was all true. His destiny was at hand.
Sir Ralph Evers stood just outside the circle and watched his army of dead warriors spread out like a blanket of leather and iron around the stones. The weapons they carried—swords and axes, spears and shields—bristled in the bright sunlight. The lad they’d taken from Duart Castle was on his knees between two warriors. The terror in his eyes was familiar. Evers had seen that same look a thousand times all across Scotland. And he would see it again as the world fell to its knees before him.
Evers touched the pouch at his belt and felt the thrill of a victory that was now within his grasp.
He looked up at the blue sky, at the bank of clouds obscuring the world beyond the island, at the meadows and forests, at the peaks rising above it all. Before him, nine great stones stood in a ring, and nine more lay across the top, linking them.
He stepped into the circle and a great weight lifted from his shoulders.
At the very center stood a stone table on a raised platform. Before he could approach it, a flock of white birds flew past, swooping in low and then sailing upward on the breeze.
Evers raised his hands and called out, “Priest, arise.”
By the stone table, a wind began to blow, slowly at first, and then rising sharply in intensity. Evers took a step back as the dust of a thousand storms, caught up in the whistling gale, whirled higher and higher into a powerful and frenzied vortex. He shielded his eyes, peering through the maelstrom. And then before him, the red-bearded priest appeared, holding a staff, his leather cloak whipping wildly in the wind.
Evers stared at the figure, sure of his own path. “Who are you?”
“A Druid priest, dead for a millennium, yours to command,” the figure responded.
Evers looked over his shoulder at his army of the dead, then at the priest standing in the center of the circle. “They cannot cross. What makes you different?”
“I served the High King. My spirit lives within this sacred circle.”
Evers nodded, satisfied. “Give me what is mine. Give me the girl. Give me the fourth tablet.”
The red-bearded figure raised his staff above his head as if stirring the heavens. More birds took flight all around them, diving in and rising, nearly obscuring him from Evers’s view.
Miranda MacDonnell, clothed like a boy, suddenly tumbled onto the ground in front of him, and Evers knew with all certainty that the world was now his.
Standing at edge of the precipice, Rob watched the flock of birds sail across the tops of the standing stones and hang above them like puppets from strings. He only wished he had wings to cross this divide.
Behind him, the Macphersons and Sinclairs were only three quarters of the way to the top. He couldn’t wait for them. If Miranda was there and in trouble, he needed to go now.
A long twisting path snaked down the hill to a crossing upriver from the waterfall. From there, it appeared to lead up the far bluffs to the meadow and the ring of stones. Rob moved along the edge, looking for a faster way across.
He stopped, staring across at the circle.
He’d only seen Evers once before, in Plymouth, but that was enough to know the man. Evers stood inside the circle of stones. Fear for Miranda gripped Rob by the throat. Outside the circle, a blond-haired young man knelt, watching. He was wearing leather.
“Gavin,” Rob murmured. Miranda’s vision was coming true.
He quickly moved along the edge. There must be a way down.
Suddenly, his attention was again wrenched toward the standing stones. A whirlwind had sprung up, tearing at the ground in the circle. Birds were flying in a frenzy, spiraling high into the sky.
A noise behind him spun Rob around.
“This isn’t happening,” he muttered under his breath, drawing his knife. “Not now.”
There between two boulders, the giant stood glaring at him. The man had shadowed him along the beach all day, watching him from ledges on the bluffs, keeping his distance but it seemed never losing track of him. Now he was here on the cliff’s edge where Rob had nowhere to go.
And from the looks of it, he thought, the warrior wanted to do more than just watch him.
As the man started forward, Rob moved back a step and felt his boot heels at the very edge of the precipice. A shower of sand and stones went skittering and bouncing down the steep cliff face into the gorge below.
He couldn’t let this happen. Miranda needed him now.
“By the devil,” he cursed, preparing to attack. “I’ll be damned if I go off this cliff without a fight.”
“Come. You’re needed,” the man said thickly, turning and dropping down onto a lower ledge.
The point of Evers’s sword was at the back of Miranda’s neck. She thought about the Druid’s plan. She had to act now and get Evers to go down to the crypt. That was their only chance.
“Kill me,” she goaded, shouting above the wind. “If you do, the power will pass to someone far better than you.”
“Don’t play games. Give me the stone tablet.”
“I don’t have it. I gave it away,” she snapped. “So kill me. Then you will never have it.”
She knew the power Evers possessed. He had the ability to raise the dead. Her mother had seen it in one of her visions. That was why Muirne wouldn’t allow her body to be found and buried in the MacDonnell crypt. She knew this butcher would use her spirit to learn all that he needed to know. Whatever Miranda wouldn’t tell him when she was alive, he’d extract from her after death.
“I am the one chosen to receive the final fragment of the Wheel,” Evers shouted, and Miranda realized he was directing his words at the priest. “Where is it?”
The birds continued to fly in a frenzy. In the center of it, the Druid had been silent, looking on. Finally he spoke, his voice low and calm in spite of the shriek of the birds.
“The fragment you seek is here on the island. But she’s speaking the truth. She tricked us all, and you would do well to find it before killing her.”
“Where?” Evers bellowed. “Where is it? Who has it?”
The Druid never moved, but tapped the ground with his staff. “Below us you will find the crypt of the High King Lugh. A pool of water awaits you there. Look into it and you will see the one you are seeking. You will learn where the others are who retain the powers of the stone fragments. It is all reflected in the pool.”
“All of them, you say?” Evers asked. “The woman with the power of healing and the one who sees into the past?”
“They are already here. They were summoned, just as this one was.”
Miranda had seen them in the pool. These others were standing with Hawk. Her gaze darted away from the tempest and the priest, and for the first time she espied a young man dressed all in leather, down on his knees by the edge of the circle. His arm was twisted behind him as if some invisible power held him there. The lad’s gaze lifted, and Miranda looked into eyes that matched her own.
“Show me,” Evers shouted. “Take me to the crypt.”
“My spirit is not allowed in the crypt of the High King.” The Druid priest pointed with his staff at the stairs Miranda knew led down into the earth.
Evers grabbed her by the tunic and yanked her to her feet.
“Keep her here until
I get back,” he shouted, slinging her out of the circle.
Miranda was about to fall, but invisible hands caught her. Struggling to get free, she felt a sharp kick to the back of her knees as she was forced down next to the other captive.
The significance of what the Druid told her was sobering. They were surrounded by an army that she could not see, but she could feel the pain they inflicted.
Inside the standing stones, Evers pushed his leather cloak back over his shoulder and disappeared down the steps.
Miranda looked up, and as she studied her brother’s face, feelings of tenderness and belonging she had never before experienced flooded through her. The eyes, the nose, the mouth were all so similar. His face was a bit wider, his brow higher, but there was no mistaking his identity. She fought back tears and words struggled to break through the knot in her throat.
“We look alike,” he whispered.
“Aye, Gavin.” She nodded. “I’m your twin sister. I’m Miranda.”
Evers stood at the foot of the steps and let his eyes adjust to the darkness of the crypt. A single torch flickered from a pillar.
Crypt. It was just a cave. How typical of these Celts. Savages.
Exhilaration coursed through his veins. For a thousand years, these barbarians had been waiting for one man of quality and ambition—one man superior to them in every way—to combine these fragmented powers into one insurmountable force. Lugh, their legendary High King, was about to give way to Ralph Evers, Lord of All, Living and Dead. Just the thought of it filled him with a thrill that he could barely contain.
Evers strode across the floor to what looked like a stone cauldron.
Satisfaction. That’s what he was feeling. More than anything else, it was that. All his life he’d been fighting. Fighting for a place in his family of brothers. Fighting for a place of favor in the eyes of a fickle and jealous king. Fighting for land and gold and power. Fighting.
And now . . . victory. Victory over anyone who had ever injured him or slighted him or even failed to see him as a man unlike any other. They would all pay. Dearly.
He looked into the water in the pool. The priest had not tried to fool him. Of course not. He was master here now; he wouldn’t dare. Images formed just beneath the surface. The two women—the healer and the keeper of the past—had managed thus far to elude him and his bounty hunters. But he could see them now, climbing a hill. He recognized the place. In the distance, the horns of Balor the Poison Eye jutted into a blue sky. Not that it mattered, but his army of dead warriors would save him from paying any gold for their heads.
Their images faded, replaced by the image of Miranda, cowering on her knees outside the circle of standing stones. Her face too, faded, and he saw his own.
Of course, he would be there. He also possessed the power. He held three of the four fragments of the Wheel. The priest said the waters would reflect all of their images. But where was the face of whoever had that fourth stone tablet?
Growing impatient, Evers unsheathed one of his knives and reached in, stirring the cauldron.
When the waters grew calm, he saw his own face again. Then another appeared behind him. Black Hawk.
Evers spun around, drawing his sword as the man pounced on him. The leather cloak and his breastplate saved him, deflecting Hawkins’s dagger. With a heave, he shoved the pirate away and raised his sword.
His adversary circled, moving just out of reach of Evers’s blade, looking for an opening. Evers wasn’t going to give him that chance.
“I know you, Hawk,” he said. “I know your father. We have no reason to fight.”
His assailant was trying to maneuver him near one of the pillars where he wouldn’t be able to swing his sword freely.
“You’re an Englishman,” he continued. “And you’re a man who knows the power of gold. Help me finish these Scots and you’ll have all the wealth and all the power you could ever desire. Help me now and you’ll have a fleet of ships that will rule the seas from China to the New World.”
“And you will give me all of this?”
“Aye. And in return, I want just one thing. I know the MacDonnell chit gave it to you. The st—”
Hawkins was quick, darting at him with speed that belied his size. The attacker got inside the arc of the swinging sword, and Evers felt two quick stabs that struck him like punches in the side of his chest. Ignoring the burning sensation, he jabbed at the fast-moving target with his dagger. His blade found its mark, and even as Hawkins spun away, Evers saw the hilt of his weapon protruding from the man’s chest.
But it was not enough. An instant later, Hawk was behind him, and the man’s blade cut a hot line across Evers’s throat.
Time stood still. Perplexed, Evers watched his adversary stagger back toward the cauldron.
It couldn’t be, he thought as his mouth filled with blood. This was not his destiny.
As he sank to his knees, he clutched at the pouch of stones at his waist. Faces flashed before his eyes. Faces of the dead. A monk. A child. A witch. Men and women. Scores of them. An old man. The one who once possessed his stone relic.
Nay, it could not end like this. The light in the crypt was growing brighter, the torch on the pillar blazing.
Nay, this was not his fate. It couldn’t be. The world was his. The kingdom. The power . . .
Chapter 25
An army of the dead. It was impossible to say how many warriors surrounded the circle, but Miranda had no doubt that they were there. She felt the viselike grip on her arm and the pain it inflicted any time she tried to stand. Neither she nor Gavin could move. She tried to get a glimpse of the priest, but a shroud of flying birds raising a whirl of dust encircled the Druid and cut him off from her view.
“Is this all we have?” Gavin asked. “Are we to meet each other, only to die in the same hour?”
Miranda looked at her brother. He had no fear in his eyes, only a wistfulness that she shared. She wished she could come up with some happy ending to their story, but they both knew there were no such promises in life.
The priest had never spoken the words, but Miranda assumed that the giant was waiting to kill Evers in the crypt. But what would happen if he weren’t strong enough? Or skilled enough? Hawk had been able to scare the huge warrior away. Evers might do the same. And the English commander was heavily armed. What then?
From the very beginning, the Druid’s plan had been flawed and filled with risk, and fighting a person like Evers entailed great danger. And sometimes evil triumphed over good . . . for a while.
She was afraid for Gavin and herself, but she was terrified for Hawk. She knew he would come for her. He had no idea what he was walking into. She’d had two visions about this moment, but neither of them had truly prepared her for it.
“Why?” Gavin asked, interrupting her thoughts. “Why did our parents give me away?”
Miranda forced her attention back to him. He had a right to know. “Not our parents. Our mother gave you away. She was the one who did it.”
“Why? How?” he asked, perplexed. “What kind of mother would do that?”
“A mother who loved you more than life itself,” she said.
“I don’t understand.”
“I need to tell you some things that you’ll find nearly impossible to understand.”
“Such as an army of invisible warriors, like the one twisting my arm right now?”
“Aye, that’s it, exactly.” Miranda searched for the right words. “Our mother had a gift, different from Evers but connected to it, and it’s the reason why we’re here. She could see into the future. When we were born, you were afflicted with scars and sores almost from the moment of your birth. Our mother knew our father would think you were a curse on him and the clan. When she touched you, she saw him killing you. Angus MacDonnell was a horrible man.”
“So she gave me away and told him I died?”
Miranda wanted to wrap her arms around her brother. Perhaps if she could touch his hand, she could see a
future for him. Something that didn’t end on this godforsaken island. She struggled to rise, but her captor leaned heavily on her.
“I’m sorry, Gavin,” she told him. “Muirne touched you again right before you were whisked away. She saw that life would be hard for you early on, but her visions showed her that you would have a loving family. And you would survive.”
“She was right,” Gavin said. “And that power of hers, do you possess it now?” She nodded. “Have you ever had visions about me?”
She wasn’t going to answer that. Miranda had seen him being killed by Evers. She’d seen the knife blade drawn across his throat. She tried to calm the panic rising in her. She glanced up at the flying birds. Through the tumult, she could just make out the stairs where Evers had descended.
“Across the meadow,” Gavin said to her. “Someone is coming.”
Miranda followed his gaze. Two women and two men were coming from the edge of the gorge. She recognized them. She’d seen their reflections in the pool, standing with Hawk.
She twisted around and a knee pressed into the middle of her back.
They were walking into the hands of an army they couldn’t see. They’d be cut down and killed without even knowing who and what attacked them.
Miranda knew she had one chance. She screamed at the top of her lungs. “The dead. The ghosts. They’re all around you!”
It was too late. And even as she saw the others seized by their invisible foes, a phantom boot kicked her viciously in the side and she fell to the ground, gasping for breath.
That’s when she saw him at the top of the stone steps. His shirt and jerkin gleamed with blood. Hawk staggered to the center of the circle.
Rob pressed a hand to the wound, trying to slow the life force surging from his chest with every beat of his heart. He could taste the blood in his mouth and knew Evers’s blade had pierced his lung.
With every unsteady step, fiery pain ripped through his chest. With every ragged breath, he knew he was getting closer to his last.
But he had to find her. He had to see her one last time. Looking wildly about him from the center of the standing stones, he saw Miranda. She was being held down by the ghostly presence of some ancient warrior. She stretched a hand toward him, trying to rise, but a fierce blow knocked her down.
Tempest in the Highlands (The Scottish Relic Trilogy) Page 18